Chasing Stars (40 page)

I haven’t seen her all day. A tight knot tugs at my chest, spreading a melancholic and uneasy feeling. It is similar to a sad sunset, when I wake up from an afternoon nap to find out the day has slipped away from me.

The common, yet peculiar, pull of Portia’s presence attracts me. The thrill of anticipation runs through my body when I see her lovely face staring at me from across the street. With a grin, I wave in her direction. She smiles and waves back at me.

My hand reaches to open the door when the shrill blast of horns slams my ears. My head snaps in the direction of shrieking tires skidding on asphalt.

I glance at Portia, noting a brief panic in her startled eyes. I read her lips as she says, “Will.” Petrified, I watch Portia paralyzed on the sidewalk as a car swerves her way. The car closes in, in, in. I hear the cracking thud of the car colliding against her frail body. It throws her a few yards away as if she was a damn rag doll.

I will always remember the shocked expression on her face, right before the impact. But never will I recall how I got out of the car. I do not panic, my brain shifts into an automatic mode. With calculated movements, I tread across the noisy road, dodging cars. My focus is on the still body lying on the sidewalk. My throat closes. I continue to sprint in her direction, desperately trying to reach her. But it is as if I am walking in a murky tunnel, the further I trudge, the farther she seems to be.

A small group of bystanders already hovers around her. I shove people out of my way. My legs buckle, my knee crushes onto the concrete as I reach for her. I see a great deal of blood surrounding her body. I swallow hard, and my body fights the urge to vomit.

“No, no, no,” I croak, ignoring all the people on the sidewalk crushing in on her.

“Baby, can you hear me?” My fingers brush her vacant face.
Think, Will.
I order myself.

“Someone call 911,” I yell. Her leg twists in a sickening angle. Her face has an agonizing ashen color. I touch a long slash along her hairline. It oozes an amazing amount of blood. I carefully pat her calf, feeling the wet warm gush of blood saturating her jeans. My stomach writhes. I want to scream.

CPR. I remember I know the basics of first aid. I check for her pulse and breathing. Nothing. But I’m unsure if I checked them right. Why is this so hard? My heart pounds heavily inside my chest. Time is passing, seconds, minutes. I don’t know because everything jumbles together. For a moment, I think I am on one of my nightmares. I pray to be inside my nightmare. But the brutal image of Portia’s motionless body screeches my way. This is fucking reality.

Again, I fight the instinct to panic or to just vomit. Even the air is oppressive.

Crouching next to her, I ready myself to begin CPR. Before I start, a man kneels beside me.

“My name is Chin. I am a registered nurse. Let me start the compressions. Can you handle the breathing?” he says tersely, his fingers gently palpating Portia’s face and along her neck. “No breathing, no pulse, air way is clear,” he adds, methodically to himself.

I obey his orders, but immediately, regret it. The man sprawls his large palms on the center of her chest, and presses down hard. I hear her bones crack and see her chest collapsing.
No, no, no.
I clench my fist into a tight ball, resisting the urge to push the man away from her inanimate body. Frozen, I watch as he mercilessly continues with each thrust.

“Now five breaths,” he orders without a blink.

I blow in her mouth five times. He resumes the compressions.

“Begin another cycle,” he says to himself.

Cars, oblivious to the infinite pain on the sidewalk, dart down the road. Inside buildings, people are getting ready to close their offices and go home to their loved ones. Across the street, someone engages in a debate of each coffee to order. People go about their routines—here, across town, and around the planet. While Portia—a mere speck in the vast universe—lies lifeless. Grief engulfs my body. A pain so big, it is indescribable in any known language. Portia is my entire universe.

The air becomes thick, making it hard to breathe. I hear the blare of sirens getting closer and louder, giving me a moment of hope. After what seems like a century, the ambulance screeches to a stop near me. The driver parks so close, I can feel the heat emanating from the vehicle.

“Clear the way.” I hear the paramedics say as they approach.

“Performing CPR on a female, approximately mid twenties. Unresponsive due to an MVA; no pulse and no breathing.” The man in front of me competently informs the paramedic.

“Taking over compressions…” A female paramedic positions her body alongside the nurse, her hands replacing his.

“Are you related to the victim?” The other paramedic begins to palpate her body.

“No, I think he is. But he seems in shock.” The nurse points to me.

“Sir, are you related to the victim?” he directs the question to me.

I shake my head slightly, his face is under a haze, and his voice is distorted.

“Sir, we need you to stay with us,” his voice is domineering and firm. “Are you related to her?”

“I, um, she is my wife,” I stutter. It seems there is a lump on my throat. “She was hit by a car, she stood there, and the car came at her,” I say, with the sensation of an alternative reality sucking me in.

“Air way clear, administer breathing.” They place a mask over her face and blow air into her lungs.

“Applying a hard collar,” another EMT says.

A police officer begins to move the suffocating crowd away from us. There are more paramedics, fire fighters, and police officers arriving, but my gaze locks on Portia’s body. I glance briefly at the red lights in an unwary spin and casting eerie shadows on Portia’s face. I don’t realize I am crying, but when a cold wind bites my skin, I realize my face is drenched from tears.

The EMT rummages through his pocket for scissors, and I see the sharp blades slashing her shirt, exposing her chest. He deftly applies electrodes to her chest. And utters, “Clear for AED.” All hands are off her body. The man who applied the electrodes pushes a button, sending an electrical shock through her body. I stifle a cry when Portia’s body warps. Her upper body jerks, rising from the ground as they administer the electrical shocks.

“Resume CPR.”

I am trembling, and my heart beats too fast. Each pump of her chest hurts my body, slaying a piece of me. I lose track of how many times her chest sinks under the harsh pressure. I cringe at every electrical shock they administer to her body.

How long has it been? I don’t know what to do, my hand itches to reach for hers, but I don’t want to interfere with their work.

Glancing to the side, I see another paramedic assisting the driver out of the car that hit Portia. He wears a red shirt, the same shade as my sweetheart’s blood. He seems distressed, but I wrench my eyes away from the sight of him. Inside my chest, an unbidden anger arises.

I close my eyes; pain and agony permeate inside me. Every inch of my body hurts with a desperate need to urge Portia’s heart to initiate its beat, which will spread life through her barren body.

I remember when Dominick died and I just stood there, unable to prevent the bony fingers of death from claiming him. Reality slams across my face. Certain things in life are beyond our control. Life is a delicate tapestry woven together by cobweb-like threads that are thin and sensitive. Yet, we never give it a lot of thought or proper appreciation.

Please, please God, let her live.
I beg. There is nothing else I can do or say. I feel the soul-crushing weight of death hovering over Portia’s body when a word comes to mind: miracle. At times like this, there is no space for being politically correct or proud. It matters not if we deny pledging to a faith. We become believers of a greater power that has the ability of stepping in and performing the unimaginable. And we realize how small and fragile we really are.

So, I gather all my courage to do the only thing I can possibly do. I let God take control over the outcome and decide the ultimate fate of my other half.

My body, relaxed and weightless, wakes to a sweet aroma of flowers on a spring morning. I stretch my limbs, and languidly open my eyes.

The day is bright, and I hear the sound of hummingbirds fluttering their wings very close to me. Oh, how I love hummingbirds! I scan my surroundings and blink my eyes, adjusting to the vibrant and lush colors. Flowers tumble from enormous vases, under the deep green canopies of trees. I have seen this shade of green before, but I can’t focus. I scramble up, relishing the soft caress of the grass under my bare feet.

The absence of people and the silence soothe me. For an unknown reason, I feel in need of peace.

“Hello,” a crystal voice greets me. I turn, and two tall men smile at me.

“Hi, where am I?” I arch a brow.

“Follow us, someone is waiting for you.” One of them orders me gently, and guides me through a maze of colorful gardens.

I look around, trying to register the sight of every pretty flower, inhale the mixture of exotic scents, hear every note of the symphony of hums, and sense every soft texture caressing my skin. I smile, realizing that I am incredibly responsive to all the sensory stimulations.

After I blink, the scenery morphs. I step into a white room. The floor seems fluffy and I seem to float, rather than walk. It’s peaceful, ethereal.

“There He is.”

A very young man with olive-colored skin, raven hair, and dressed in white, beckons to me. He flashes me a smile and I see that his teeth are perfectly white. I consider asking him for the name of his dentist.

“Finally, you’ve made it.” He opens his arms, invitingly. I have never seen him before, but I am unable to refuse the warmth of his embrace.

“I’ve waited for you, for a very long time.”

I rest my head on his chest, in an intimate way. “Where am I and who are you?” I finally break free from his peaceful, soothing touch.

“You are where you belong. Home.”

I shake my head, confused. What he tells me is coherent to the way I feel, but my mind tries unsuccessfully to catch up.

“Some people call it heaven.”

“So, have I died?” I frown, but for a reason beyond my reasoning, an endless sense of peace envelops me.

“Yeah, some people say that.”

My head floats with tremendous joy. Really? I thought I would be more upset about the news of my recent death. Surprisingly at ease, I smile at my host. I scramble my mind trying to remember how I got here. Then, a sharp pain slits across my heart. I clench my fist, and bring it to my chest. “Will,” I mumble. For the first time, the complete sense of peace deserts me. I glance up to meet the man’s unchanging, serene expression. His eyes exude warmth as he examines my face.

“Wow. Aren’t you in love with Will?” His lips turn up in a soothing smile.

“Are you God?”

“Some people call me that.” He reaches out his hand and leads me to a white couch.

“What’s happening?” A wall of clouds swirls ferociously alongside us.

“The paradigms are shifting.”

“What you mean?”

“The plates where your life story stands are changing, stretching, and morphing into an open-ended period.”

“Why?”

“Because you and Will found each other and visited Aurora. Now heaven is recalibrating your itinerary to fit with a possible new outcome.”

“A new ending to my life?”

“Yes. Whether you will stay here or not.”

“Oh. I don’t understand.”

“There is a book where all things are registered, where plans and purposes are documented. It includes dates and times of when you are expected to join us.”

I inhale deeply. “I like it here. Amazing since I just arrived, but already, I feel at home.”

“Because it is. You were meant to spend eternity here. But Will has been given a chance to have you back.”

“Is that how it works?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why?”

“One thing we really enjoy is when someone talks to us like we exist. It really moves heaven, you know. On earth, you call it
faith
.” God smiles and looks at me. “Did you ever hear Will’s thoughts? Of course not. Here, listen. This is a snippet of what you call prayer.”

I hear a quiet whisper slowly seeping through my brain. The sound seems internal, inside my head: “She is my life. I can’t go on without her. Please, let her stay with me. We just found each other. I waited for so long. Please give her back to me.”

Instinctively, my eyes fill with tears. The agonizing sound of Will’s cry disappears. I try to understand what is happening. “So, you are saying that I am going back?”

“Yes and no. What is released on earth is released here. Oftentimes, people forget their incredible power. Will wants you back, Portia. Even though your days were numbered, what Will asks me can be granted to him. But I cannot violate your free will. You were supposed to join us today, it was written long ago, before your time. Throughout your life, an increasingly painful void haunted you. Through Will and the love you have for each other, you have tasted a glimpse of the joy I can offer you. Here you have the promise of never being in pain again.” He smiles.